


The Lights Are Shining Brightly

by anonymousAlchemist, marywhale



Series: The Avenger Zone [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Candlenights, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Romance, Standard ATTYPF Warnings Apply, so you thought we were mean here have some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousAlchemist/pseuds/anonymousAlchemist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/marywhale/pseuds/marywhale
Summary: Lup's first Christmas in the future. Kravitz's first Hanukkah as a free agent.That's right — it's anAll the Things You Prayed ForCandlenights special!





	1. Christmas in the Future

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you’re having a wonderful Candlenights season and may the Star King come and give u a present.
> 
> ENJOY A BRIEF HOLIDAY INTERLUDE — normal updates will resume on wrong Thursdays. <3

**New York, 2012**

Barry's in the middle of redesigning some of the wiring in the Iron Man gauntlets when he's pulled out of concentration by a tap on his shoulder. He nearly jumps out of his seat, scattering holograms everywhere. He spins around in his desk chair.

"Woah, sorry," Lup says, holding her hands up. "Didn't mean to startle you, babe."

Captain America calls everyone babe. That's a fact that didn't make the history books. It always surprises Barry, her casual flirtation. She does it to everyone, though, he reminds himself. He's not special. It doesn’t mean that she’s flirting with him, specifically.

"It's, uh, it's fine," he says. "Just jumpy."

"I tried sayin' your name a couple of times first," she says, both explanation and apology.

"Yeah, sorry, I get kinda, uh, into my work?" Barry says, and feels like an idiot. He should be used to this, Barry thinks. It's been months, and he hasn't managed to have a conversation with Lup where he comes across as a _normal person,_ like someone who can get through a chat without tying himself in verbal knots, he swears he's sometimes _cool_ , there’s footage of him being normal, even charismatic, out there. He's great when he's having to give a presentation or something. When he's not expected to _interact,_ when it's not _Captain America_ talking to him.

He dismisses the glowing schematics with a wave of his hand. "What's up?"

She puts her hands on her hips and does her best Captain America voice — going all Mid-Atlantic newscaster. "I'm drafting you for a special mission, soldier."

Barry finds himself smiling. "I told you, I'm no soldier."

Lup laughs, breaking character. Barry feels pleased with himself. It's nice that they can joke about the arguments they had during the Chitauri invasion, now that everything’s been over for months.

"Too bad," she says, continuing in her normal tone. "I wanna go to Rockefeller Center."

Barry blinks. "Why?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's _Christmas,_ Barry. I wanna go see the _tree_."

"With me?"

"Is there anyone else in this workshop?" Lup says, looking around theatrically.

"Well, there's always Dummy — you could take him for a walk, he'd probably enjoy it," Barry quips, and Lup punches him in the shoulder. Dummy whirs and chirps inquisitively. He looks up from the pile of bolts that he's sorting. Barry waves a hand at him. "Sorry bud, didn't mean to disturb you."

Dummy chirps again and returns to his self-imposed task. Barry turns back to Lup. She looks thoughtful. "You always talk to him like he's people. Is he people?"

Barry shrugs. "Well, if he were _people_ , he'd be at the center of the next philosophical debate around, uh, robot ethics. AI ethics? Him and JARVIS. Which would lead to the media. And congress. And legislation, probably? So, no, he's not people."

"Huh," Lup says. "Well, he's cool."

"Thanks," Barry says, pleased. He likes that Lup likes Dummy, that she likes JARVIS, that she thinks that his work is cool and not dystopian. He had originally been hesitant to talk too much about his work with her. Not because he thought she was stupid, but there's a seventy year gap between their knowledge bases and he didn't want to scare her. Well, he didn't actually think he could scare her. But he didn't want her to think badly of him.

Barry has a miniature arc reactor embedded in his chest. He's used to the way people sometimes look at it. First with horror, then with pity. He plays it off. Sometimes it’s nice to have a reputation for social awkwardness. He refrains from telling people that the tech keeping him from heart failure is ten times more advanced than anything else being made on Earth right now, that he's _happy_ that he's got the arc reactor in his chest, it lets him be Iron Man, he's a _genius_ and the glowing light isn’t a symbol of his failure, it's a symbol of his _success._

Of course he hadn't said any of that to Lup. He had just remarked that she seemed to be adapting well, and she had looked at him like he was crazy and said that she's an experimental supersoldier who fought nazis with alien weaponry, everything in her life since 1944 has been science fiction.

He keeps underestimating her. And maybe he should be annoyed by that, but the way she keeps surprising him is compelling. Captain America is an icon, the target of his father's obsession, a historical figure. Captain America is right up there with Santa Claus and Jesus Christ in terms of moral character.

Lup, on the other hand, cursed out Piers Morgan last week on national TV, and is driving her publicist into an early retirement. And she had told him that like she was proud of it, like she was happy to be causing some mischief. Barry thought the way she smiled was cute, and then hastily squashed that thought. He can't have a crush on Lup. It would be entirely inappropriate, never mind the fact that he's like, twice her age, he'd be taking advantage of her in just, _so_ many ways.

Also, when he was in high school he had the worst crush on Lup from the _Fighting Soldier! Captain America!_ anime _._ Barry's really hoping nobody has explained anime to Lup yet.

"So, meet me in the lobby in ten minutes, okay?" Lup says.

Barry nods. "Sure, I'll see you there." She smiles at him. Barry feels his heart do a flip, and thinks that he should really start working on this not having a crush thing.

#

Lup checks her watch and bounces on the balls of her feet. Ever since getting the serum, she hasn't been great about sitting still. She adjusts her scarf. And her hat. New Yorkers are pretty cool about the Cap thing but there's always tourists, and normally she's fine with flashing them a smile and signing some autographs and taking photos with the little kids, but this is a _date._ Probably.

Maybe dating is different in the future? Maybe dating is different because Barry's a billionaire. He's probably had lots of girlfriends. Boyfriends? She doesn't even know if he likes girls, and the tabloids mostly speculate that he's like, an android. He apparently doesn't get out much. Lup can see why.

She means for this outing to be a date, anyway. Or at least she thinks she _wants_ it to be a date. Maybe dating isn't the best idea right now. A few months ago it was 1944 and she was in the middle of a war. But when would be the right time? She can either get over herself, and go on a date with a nice guy who she misjudged the first time they met and go see the Christmas lights, or she can hang around being depressed about everyone being dead in her apartment.

Sure, everything's weird now, but it's Christmas. _Future_ Christmas, and she's going to go look at things with a future boy.

She definitely said it was a date, right? Probably. Oh well. She checks her watch again.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," Barry says, jogging over to meet her. He's wearing jeans and a thick sweater and winter jacket. "I had to change — the first jacket let too much of the arc reactor light through."

"You're good, babe," Lup says. She's definitely not relieved that he showed up. "Ready to go?"

"Lead the way, Cap," he says, and she gives him an ironic salute, grabs his arm, and pulls him out of the tower and into the street.

#

Manhattan in late December is all crowds and capitalism. That hasn't changed, though the flashing lights are more overwhelming than they used to be. The twenty-first century is all fast-moving glitz and Lup thinks that, well, mostly actually she thinks that Taako would have loved it. But he's dead, so. She puts the thought aside.

"Thanks for coming with me," she says to Barry as they weave around pedestrians.

"Of course," he says. "I haven't seen the tree in years."

"You live ten blocks away!"

"I have _a very full schedule,_ Lup," Barry says. She laughs. "Try that on someone else, Bluejeans."

"Aw, not the nickname."

"Why not? It's cute."

"NBC just likes making fun of my fashion sense," he says.

"Or lack thereof," Lup says, and he staggers as if wounded. She giggles.

"Not you too!"

"Man up, _Barry Bluejeans,"_ she says, and he laughs, straightening back up.

"That's _Dr. Hallwinter_ to you," he says.

"Oh, I thought that was your father," Lup teases.

"Technically dad's _Mr._ Hallwinter," Barry says. "Never finished his Ph.D."

"Huh," Lup says. "Guess he was too busy with the company."

"He was always too busy with the company," Barry says, and she wonders whether that's bitterness in his voice. It's strange to think of Sildar as dead. Stranger still to think of him as a father. Barry isn't actually that much like him, Lup thinks. Just a similarity in the profile, the obvious futurist leanings. But she can’t imagine Sildar shutting down the weapons division of Hallwinter Industries. She wonders if Barry ever tried to make a flying car.

"Well, Dr. Bluejeans then," Lup says, and Barry laughs. She feels smug.

"How about just _Barry,_ please Lup," he says.

"Sure," she says. "Barry — oh quick the light!" She runs ahead, dragging Barry after her. He follows, laughing.

They walk down the street. Tourists, snatches of holiday music, shoppers with shopping bags. It's nice. It's _festive._ There's still damage from the Chitauri attack — blocks cordoned off, lots of "DO NOT PASS" signs — but there's still strings of lights up on the storefronts. Barry pauses at the corner of ?.

"Hey, did they do the holiday windows in the thirties?"

"Yeah!" Lup says. "Oh shit, they still do those?"

"Oh they _definitely_ do," Barry says, and grins. "C'mon, let's take a detour."

#

Lup looks delighted by the Macy’s windows. The animatronics, the digital snow falling in the background, the ridiculously elaborate dioramas. She's rivaling the five year old jumping and pointing in enthusiasm.

"Barry, look! Is that _real_ candy?"

"I have no idea," Barry says. She's gesturing at a life-size toy soldier made of possibly-real pink peppermints, who raises and lowers a sword that looks like its made of some sort of translucent pink rock candy. Or plastic made to look like rock candy. "Maybe?"

" _Cool_ ," Lup says. "Shit, Taako woulda loved this."

Barry's surprised to hear Lup mention her brother. He's noticed that Lup doesn't talk about Taako much. She barely ever mentions him, except to correct people about just who was wearing the suit, half the time. It's public knowledge that Lup and her brother were inseparable, that a month after Sergeant Taaco fell from a train, Lup flew the suicide mission that saved the western world from a nuclear winter. It's private knowledge — that Sildar told his son — that Lup wasn't the same after her brother's death. That she never talked about it, or him. And then she died. Barry tries to keep his voice from expressing surprise.

"Did you guys look at the windows, before the war?"

"Yeah," Lup says, a wistful tint to her voice. "We used to go every Christmas. The windows — cause looking's free, you know? — and sometimes Rockefeller Center, except they stopped lighting the tree after the war was announced, but it was just me in New York that year, anyway."

"Just you?"

"Taako stole my draft," she says, matter of fact. "The _asshole_."

She says asshole like she means she loved him. Barry feels terrible for asking. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring back bad memories," he says, a little hesitant. She shakes her head.

"Oh, no, don't feel bad, babe," Lup says. "I'm the one who brought old stuff up. That's on me." She smiles at him, all showmanship and star-spangled cheer. "Sorry, Barry."

The pink peppermint soldier raises and lowers his arms. The crowd chatters. Children giggle. The holiday lights play red and green across Lup’s face, and Barry hates the way she’s smiling at him, plastic as the soldier’s sword.

"No, don't be sorry," Barry says, all a rush. "I want you to tell me things. I mean, if you want to. I want us, well, I hope we are, the sort of friends where you can tell me things, if you feel like, you know, if you want."

Oh god, he sounds like an idiot. But Lup is looking at him all soft now. so maybe he didn't screw it up. "You're a really good guy, Bluejeans," she says. "I'm not great at... talking about stuff, sometimes."

"Well, clearly, neither am I," he says, and that gets a laugh from her, which is great. He'd like to be someone who makes her laugh, not just someone who brings back old memories.

"Guys, can we _please_ keep the line moving?" one of the department store attendants says, clear desperation in her voice.

"Sure, sorry, sorry!" Lup says, and then they're walking again, on to the next window, and back onto the stream of people on the sidewalk.

#

Rockefeller Center is super crowded, and loud, and Lup doesn't care about any of that because holy shit that's the _fanciest_ Christmas tree that she's ever seen. The twentieth century has nothing on this.

"Oh it's so _sparkly!_ "

"Future has some advantages, huh?" Barry says, and he sounds pleased that she likes it. She leans against him.

"It's _alright,_ I guess," she says, watching the lights on the tree glimmer in synchronization, the skaters below going in awkward loops and whirls. She can hear laughter. People talking about taking photos, happy holidays, it's cold but they're glad to be here. There's holiday music playing from speakers.

She's _really_ glad that she stopped Red Skull.

"Thanks for inviting me," Barry says. She puts an arm around his waist. He's warm and solid, even through the layers of outerwear they're both wrapped in. He tenses for a second, then relaxes.

"Thanks for coming with me," Lup says.

"Yeah, of course."

There's a long, very companionable moment while they watch all the people watching the tree. Then Lup turns to whisper in Barry's ear. "You know this is a date, right?"

"W-ell," Barry hedges.

" _Barry_ ," Lup says, and laughs.


	2. That's a Chrismakkuh to Me

**Washington D.C., 1993**

Kravitz has been, as RQ says, one of the _good guys_ for almost six months when she turns to him and says, “Hey kid, I never asked — you’re doing Chrismukkah with us, right?”

They’re on a mission in the middle of a war zone and Kravitz has his legs wrapped around a sleeper agent’s neck. It’s not exactly the best timing. Kravitz hits the man’s temple with the butt of one of his knives because choking him out is taking too long. “What?”

RQ aims an arrow above his head and lets it loose. Kravitz doesn’t flinch as it flies past, taking out whoever was coming up behind him. “Chrismukkah,” she says. “You never said, and I assume the Soviets weren’t hot on religion, but your name is _Kravitz._ We do Chrismukkah. You should come.”

“Why are you inviting me _now?”_ Kravitz rolls to his feet and is at the computer a moment later, sliding a CD into the disc drive in so they can copy the files they need and then make a strategic retreat before a bomb takes out the whole operation and leaves them in the free and clear. The military doesn’t know they’re covering up a SHIELD op, but the military doesn’t know a lot of things.

Kravitz likes dealing in secrets. Maybe that’s him. Maybe it’s learned behaviour. He hasn’t untangled that one from his conditioning yet, but he found a preference and that’s enough for now. _Liking_ things is a hint of something human.

“You know,” RQ says. “Reasons.” She lets loose another arrow. “Hanukkah starts in a couple nights. I couldn’t put off asking much longer. You ever celebrate before?”

Kravitz frowns. Holidays — especially _religious_ holidays — weren’t a thing in the Red Room. Religion was against official Soviet policy, and Russia fought against the Nazis in World War Two, but anti-Semitic policies and the persecution of Jewish people was still popular in the Soviet Union, especially under Stalin. The Soviets just called themselves anti-Zionist, coding their prejudice to make it more palatable and less Nazi-aligned.

Kravitz has learned a lot, since defecting. RQ asked him about his parents, once, before she found out about the Reaper Program and the Red Room and Kravitz’s childhood — raised as part of a class of child assassins, trained to kill without remorse and think of himself as something other than human. Kravitz never knew his parents. He still doesn’t know anything about who they were or what they did, but he _does_ know that the children selected for the Reaper Program were taken from the families of political prisoners sent to the Gulags. The Reapers were children who otherwise would become undesirables, twisted into loyal agents of the Soviet Union.

His name is Kravitz. He’s already undeniably Black. He’s read about the Doctors’ Plot and the Night of the Murdered Poets. That at least one of his parents was Jewish doesn’t seem like an unreasonable assumption.

“I’ve never celebrated,” he says, instead of explaining everything to RQ.

RQ hums like she already knows what he’s not saying. It’s equal parts frustrating and enthralling, the way she can see through Kravitz like he’s made of glass. She reads him better than his handlers in the KGB did, better than almost anyone ever has. Kravitz isn’t used to being known, but RQ’s forced her way into knowing him, and he likes it. Her.

“Holidays are for people and I wasn’t a person,” he amends, and then ejects the CD. “We’re done here.”

“Exit through the southern door,” RQ says. “Fewer guards, quicker escape. ETA two minutes on the drop.”

Kravitz runs. He takes out two more guards on his way down the hall, hears RQ behind him but doesn’t look back. She’ll make sure no one behind them shoots him. He’s got the front covered. This is another new thing. He trusts RQ to look out for him. He has a _partner_. It’s been a long time since he could say that. The Red Room didn’t like partnerships. Assets weren’t meant to have relationships of any kind, not even professional ones.

Kravitz draws a gun to break the window, jumps through it before all the glass has finished breaking and tucks his feet so he hits the ground just right, rolling upright and onwards. He vaults the fence. There are footsteps behind him, then beside him, and he glances to his side to see RQ there, a faint grin on her face, bow over her shoulder, dark hair twisted into dozens of tight braids and wound into a bun.

They keep running because there’s a bomb coming and because people are chasing them. They duck through buildings towards were their helijet is waiting for them, waiting for RQ to fly them the fuck out of here.

They make it just as the bomb hits. Kravitz doesn’t wince when he feels the explosion rattle his bones, but he does grab the side of the jet to keep himself steady. It’s an affectation, but it feels good to try them out sometimes. RQ snorts and nudges him inside the door. “Very dramatic. This is what I get for deciding to take a Russian spy under my wing. The Brits are way too uptight for the drama.”

“Why would an American agent turn a Brit?” Kravitz asks, strapping himself into the co-pilot seat. They’ve achieved their mission. He won’t be able to relax until they’re out of the country, but the hard part is done now. He affects a Cockney accent — one of his worst, although his Queen’s English and Yorkshire accents are flawless. “D’ya want me to be British, love?”

RQ laughs as she guides the jet up into the air. “ _Fuck_ no,” she says, with feeling. “It was just an example.” She extends her leg, nudging Kravitz’s foot with her own. “So Chrismukkah, two days from now. I’m making donuts. You’re coming.”

Kravitz is silent for a moment, looking out his window at the fire burning on the ground below them. “I don’t have any idea what you _do_ for Hanukkah,” he says, because it’s going to be an issue now.

RQ snorts. “No shit, Krav,” she says. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you what you need to know. I think you’re going to like Hanukkah — it’s a holiday all about revolution, miracles, and telling the people who have power over you to go fuck themselves.”

#

Kravitz turns up at the D.C. apartment RQ shares with her girlfriend two days later. He’s still not _entirely_ cleared by SHIELD to be out on his own, but RQ is his handler so he figures this is fine. He’s done research. He knows Hanukkah involves lighting candles and Christmas involves giving presents. He’s still not expecting it when Istus opens the door and thrusts a sparkling blue bag stuffed with tissue paper at him.

“Kravitz!” she says. “Raven’s frying latkes in the kitchen so she’s stuck watching the oil, but she says Happy Hanukkah and I say Merry Christmas.”

Kravitz blinks down at the bag, then looks up at Istus. “For me?”

“For you,” Istus says. She’s wearing a large sweater she probably knit herself over cozy looking leggings. The sweater is made of white yarn, flecked with all the colours of the rainbow, and the front of it reads, in bright red lettering: _Make the Yuletide Gay._ Kravitz is wearing SHIELD-issued black pants and a black t-shirt. He can’t help feeling like a dark cloud encroaching on the horizon of RQ and Istus’s happy, domestic life. “It’s your first Chrismukkah. You need this.”

Kravitz allows himself to look as pleased as he feels as he digs into the bag and pulls out — a sweater. Blue, like the bag it came in, elaborated patterned with a white Star of David motif. There’s a dreidel on the front of the sweater framed by the words: _You Spin Me Right Round_.

“I made it myself,” Istus says. “I can’t believe you showed up here in December in a _t-shirt_ , Krav. You need this for warmth and so you’re part of Chrismukkah. You deserve to be comfortable.” She pats his arm, then gives him an expectant look. “Try it on?”

Kravitz isn’t quite sure what to do with being told he deserves to be comfortable or with the arm pat, so he opts for obeying Istus’s request, tugging the sweater on over the shirt he’s wearing. Everything he owns is fitted. Loose clothing is impractical on a mission. It snags. It can hold you back. It also doesn’t look as good. The sweater is oversized and baggy and the sleeves are a bit too long. It’s thick and warm and _soft_ against his skin. He looks down at it for a moment, then up at Istus, blinking in surprise. “Oh,” he says.

She grins. “I knew you’d like it.”

“Did you even let him in the apartment before you made it put on the sweater?” calls RQ from the kitchen.

“No!” Istus yells back, stepping aside so Kravitz can enter.

Kravitz laughs, taking a deliberate step into the apartment. He sets the empty gift bag down. “The latkes smell good,” he says. “Thank you for having me.”

“I’ve been working on your sweater for months,” Istus says. “We’re happy to have you.”

Istus has only _known_ Kravitz for a few months — half as long as he’s been on the side of the angels — because it took RQ that long to realize that Kravitz had no idea how to function like a normal person and then she had to convince SHIELD Kravitz should be allowed out into the world and not kept on constant lockdown.

Kravitz doesn’t know what national secrets he was supposed to uncover getting pizza with RQ and Istus, but maybe SHIELD just grossly overestimates his abilities. He knows he’s more capable than many SHIELD employees — his reflexes are faster and he was more rigorously trained — and that the enhancements the Red Room gave him on top of his training made RQ bringing him in go _much_ more smoothly than it might have for a non-enhanced agent.

SHIELD wants him on their side. So far, that means they’re willing to make some allowances, including letting him come to Chrismukkah.

RQ pokes her head around the corner, into the hallway. Her hair is wrapped up in a scarf and she’s wearing a handknit sweater too — purple, with a menorah on the front. “The sweater looks good, Krav,” she says. “You should wear more color. Come to the kitchen so I don’t burn down the apartment trying to participate in your conversation.”

“We’re coming,” Istus says, walking over and pressing a kiss to RQ’s lips. “Please don’t burn the building down.”

“Doing my best!” RQ smiles at Istus and ducks back into the kitchen. Kravitz follows them. He still feels like he’s intruding, but he’s not going to offer to leave. He likes seeing the easy domesticity of RQ and Istus’s life together. RQ’s a spy and a sniper. She has better aim than almost anyone Kravitz has ever worked with. She stills seems normal when Kravitz sees her outside of work. She seems _happy_.

Kravitz doesn’t expect to ever have anything remotely like RQ’s life, but it’s nice watching. It’s nice thinking about belonging somewhere the way RQ obviously belongs here, with Istus, frying potato pancakes in a slightly smoky kitchen.

Istus walks to the window and cracks it open. “Raven insists on making the latkes herself. She’s set the smoke alarm off at _least_ twice a year for the past three years running.”

“I make them the way my mama made them. It’s a secret family recipe,” RQ says. She glances back at Kravitz. “Gotta throw some baking powder in with the potatoes and onions so they puff up and get a little airy inside. Even a bad latke is a good latke, but I make _really good_ latkes.”

“I’ve never had one before,” Kravitz says, because it’s safe to admit that kind of thing around RQ. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I know,” says RQ. “Don’t worry. I showed Istus how to do Hanukkah right and I can teach you, kid. As far as our holidays go, this is entry level.”

“Entry level?” Kravitz raises a wry eyebrow. Already the sweater and the food and the comfortable routine RQ and Istus obviously have are a lot. If this is entry level, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for anything more advanced. People who try this hard to include him — people RQ would probably call _friends_ — are new to him.

“I’m keeping meat and dairy separate for you already,” RQ says. “I’ll do the blessings and light the menorah. You’ll catch on quick.”

“I offered to make chicken tonight so Raven could walk you through the blessings, but she wanted donuts,” Istus says, shrugging, like all this should make sense to Kravitz.

He should have done more research. He should have brought presents. Kravitz _is_ getting paid by SHIELD, but his experience with capitalism is mission-based. He lives in a SHIELD facility and eats in their cafeteria. His clothing was issued to him when he defected. Buying presents for RQ and Istus is well outside of his current capabilities.

“We’ll have chicken tomorrow,” RQ says. “Krav, you’re coming, right?”

Kravitz does his best to mask his surprise. “Am I invited?”

“Of course,” RQ says, like Kravitz should never have questioned it. “Hanukkah’s eight nights long and so is Chrismukkah, in this household. Unless you’ve got other plans, you’re invited to all of them.”

Eight nights is a lot. That’s over a week of Kravitz’s company and Kravitz has it on good authority — the authority of people in the SHIELD cafeteria don’t realize how good his hearing is — that he’s _creepy_. He’s not good at emoting and there are a lot of basic life skills he never learned. He’s covering all it up the best he can, but sometimes his best isn’t great. “If you’re sure you want me around that long.”

“Kid, come on — you’re my partner,” RQ says, shaking her head. “Istus didn’t knit you a sweater just to be _nice_ to you. She wanted to. We want you here.”

“We’d love to have you for all of Chrismakkuh,” Istus confirms. She points to the table. “Sit. Let Raven feed you. I have a serious question to ask.”

Kravitz sits — if Istus _wants_ something from him, this all makes more sense. Besides, sometimes direct orders are comforting. They’re something familiar in a sea of _new_. “What is it?”

Istus sits across from him and looks him dead in the eye. “You’ve been out of the Red Room for six months now,” she says. “I want to know… have you thought about hobbies yet? And, follow up question — you’re good with sharp pointy objects. What about knitting? I could teach you. You’ll just have to come over more often.”

Kravitz blinks at Istus, who wants to know if he has hobbies. Istus, who wants to teach him how to _knit_.

For some reason, that’s what makes everything finally click into place. RQ carries over a plate full of latkes and she and Istus start bickering about applesauce and sour cream and it’s… comfortable. It’s comfortable because even when Istus and RQ are talking to each other, obviously a couple, they’re making a point of trying to include him. They want Kravitz to be part of this — their warm apartment, which smells like fried potato and onions, and the easy way they are with each other.

They’re not just inviting Kravitz to Chrismakkuh, they’re inviting him to have what he never got before — to be part of their family.

Kravitz has regretted defecting to America a few times, since RQ flipped him. Not often, and only for fleeting moments, but he’s thought about what a giant leap of faith he made, trusting RQ, and known there were a million ways everything could have gone wrong.

Only nothing went wrong, and he’s here, and he knows now, without a doubt, that he made the right choice.

Istus turns back to look at him. “So?” she asks. “What do you think?”

Kravitz reaches for a latke because they smell delicious. He’s tired of the frozen vegetables and powdered mashed potatoes SHIELD serves. He’s tired of holding himself apart from everyone else when there’s no reason to keep his guard up as high anymore. Not here, anyway. If Kravitz wants people to trust him, if he wants to _belong_ , he has to be willing to open up. He can’t expect RQ and Istus to do all the work here. He has to meet them partway.

“I _do_ like pointy things,” he says, smiling at them both. “I think knitting sound great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed our Candlenights special! If you did, please light up our Candlenights by leaving a comment or a kudos!
> 
> Kravitz's sweater in this chapter is inspired by [this wonderful piece of fanart](https://femme-fatigue.tumblr.com/post/178586716452/image-description-a-drawing-of-a-framed) by the very talented [@femme-fatigue](http://femme-fatigue.tumblr.com) over on tumblr!
> 
> You can find us both on tumblr, where we're [@anonymousAlchemist](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com) and [@marywhal](marywhal.tumblr.com), and on twitter where we're [@4non4lchemist](https://twitter.com/4non4lchemist) and [@marywhal](https://twitter.com/marywhal). Come say hello!


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